


Breaking Down Walls

by flecksofpoppy



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, I'm sorry for more plot than porn, M/M, Military Police - Freeform, PWP, Tumblr Prompt, jeanmarco, or really more words than porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 11:14:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1603139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a tumblr anon prompt after requesting jeanmarco prompts: "How about some JeanMarco smut while they're commanders in the Military Police?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Down Walls

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in one evening. DON'T JUDGE ME.
> 
> Also, some of these ideas were formed in a few conversations with tumblr user kaa-05n2 about a Military Police AU based on her drawings. I'm just toying with them right now, though. XD But a few of these head canon-y elements might pop up again in a longer fic. XD

Over the past three years since he and Jean joined the Military Police, Marco has wondered what Jean gets up to in his spare time outside the barracks.

He’s surprisingly elusive during these times; this isn’t to say that Marco wants for Jean’s company. They see each other frequently enough, both in social situations and on duty, though Jean has changed somewhat. 

He’s developed a penchant for drinking every night with the other officers, and he’s taken up smoking. Marco is convinced that the second habit is almost due solely to the fact that real tobacco is relatively unheard of outside the Interior, and Jean enjoys the exoticism. Still, the smoke makes Marco feel light-headed.

Marco isn’t a shut-in himself, but he prefers to socialize primarily with their old classmates. Connie and Sasha are always good company, and sometimes, they talk about life outside the Wall. They’re all from villages in the same mountain foothills south of Wall Rose, and in some way, Marco finds it comforting.

Jean doesn’t do that, though. He prefers to spend his time with the higher-ups—people that can get him things, indulge hedonistic habits. Marco just hopes he doesn’t lose himself.

What he’s not sure about, though, is what Jean does when he goes out on nights he isn’t drinking or on patrol. Jean’s not hard to keep track of, since he always makes his presence known, but Marco can’t help but be curious.

The first time he asks, he tries to be subtle. 

“Going out to the pub tonight?” Marco asks innocently, not looking at Jean.

At eighteen, Jean’s gotten taller—though still not as tall as Marco—so he has to tilt his head up slightly.

“Uh, no,” he replies, adjusting his gear self-consciously. “I’m on standby for patrol. Marlowe is ill.”

“Oh,” Marco replies with a shrug. “Okay. I was actually going to stay in myself. Want to hang around relax? I got some new books and—”

“No, thanks,” Jean interjects. Marco looks up at him, and to his surprise, Jean is wearing a dejected expression.

“Uh, okay,” he says softly. “Well, if you want to, I’m around.”

Jean finally looks up at him suddenly. “Are you disappointed in me?”

Marco bites his lip. “No, that’s not the right word. I think you’re... doing a good job.”

What he means is that Jean hasn’t done anything terrible, but Marco is fast learning that to do a “good job” in the Military Police, all it takes is not sleeping in late. Regardless, he’s simply resolved to hold onto his beliefs and not be dissuaded from what he realizes now is somewhat unrealistic idealism... nevertheless, he refuses to let it go.

Jean sighs and narrows his eyes. “Why are you so interested in what I’m doing tonight?”

“I just wanted to spend time with you,” Marco replies in a hurt voice. “I never see you outside patrol anymore.”

Jean’s apparently not expecting that answer, and his eyes widen. “I...” He trails off, and then sighs. “Well, just... give me more notice next time, yeah?”

His temper has at least calmed down over the past few years, and Marco gives a curt nod, staring at the floor.

Something is definitely awry.

Jean takes his leave, and Marco decides to investigate.

One thing he will agree with Jean on: daily life in the Military Police is far more boring and uneventful than he’d ever thought possible, even if you managed to hold onto your ideals amidst all the bribery and corruption.

= = =

Hitch legitimately terrifies Marco on some level—she reminds him of a black widow spider. It’s not that he thinks badly of her, but her motives are always ambiguous. If anyone will know what Jean’s up to, however, it’s her.

“Hi, Hitch,” Marco says, making his voice as friendly as possible.

Hitch is on patrol in one of the watchtowers, and she gives a long-suffering sigh, turning to face Marco.

“What are you doing up here, brown eyes?”

Marco blushes immediately, and she just gives him one of her cool little smirks. She’s a pretty girl—short, ash blonde hair with deceptively pleasant eyes, and she’s insisted on calling Marco “brown eyes” since he and Jean had arrived.

Too bad girls aren’t Marco’s thing; he’s pretty sure Hitch knows it, too, which is also the reason why she incessantly flirts with him. It’s like a game to her, although Marco’s not really sure what the goal is. She’s not exactly nasty about it, though; it’s more like a lazy cat playing with a mouse, with no real intent to kill it.

“I have a question,” he says awkwardly. 

Hitch tilts her hips with a sly little grin, holding onto her shotgun with an ease that says—despite her claim she slithered her way to the top through dishonorable means—she knows how to use it.

The small tower they’re standing in looks out over the entire Interior, and Marco can’t help but wonder where Jean is there amongst all the tiny, distant lights.

“Not out with your boytoy for the evening?”

“Jean is not my boytoy.”

“Oh,” she purrs, “so you already know who I mean.”

Marco clears his throat awkwardly and stutters. “I... why are you torturing me?”

“I’m really not, brown eyes,” she says, reaching up to run her thumb innocently over Marco’s shoulder. “You’re doing it to yourself.”

Marco sighs and steps two feet back so her hand drops. “Never mind,” he says, shaking his head as he turns away and starts to descend the stairs. He knew it was a bad idea to come here. 

But if there’s one thing Hitch can’t pass up, it’s something interesting happening in the day-to-day monotony. “Why’d you come up here, anyway?”

“I had a question, but I don’t think you’re the right person to ask,” Marco says, and then bites his lip. He finds that his words nowadays sound far harsher than they ever used to, and he’s not sure if it’s just life catching up with him, growing up, or something else—something worse, like becoming embittered without even realizing.

“Where _is_ your other half tonight?” she asks, smiling a little, as if she already knows.

Well, that’s fine—she’s saving Marco the trouble of broaching the topic.

“I don’t know,” Marco says, stopping where he’s started to walk away and crossing his arms over his chest. He doesn’t ask anything else, and just waits.

“Are you looking for the same thing that he is?” she asks, her voice silky and laced with deadly amusement. “Is _that_ why you came up here?”

Now Marco is completely baffled; he was convinced they were playing a game of him trying to find out Jean’s whereabouts, but now he’s not so sure.

Apparently, for once, Hitch doesn’t pick up on the fact they’re not speaking in veiled language about the same thing—rather, that she’s talking about something completely different than Marco—and just continues. “I can direct you to someone you’d _adore._ ” She claps her hands together suddenly, and Marco jumps. There are practically stars in her eyes when she cries, “Oh, Marco, I never realized you had this side! How terribly scandalous.”

“What?” Marco squeaks, immediately resenting the fact that he sounds like he’s fifteen again.

Her eyes light up, and it’s like watching a shooting star dash across a dark sky. She adds everything up, intelligence sparkling in her eyes, and her mouth immediately curves back into a smirk.

“Jean is at a brothel I recommended,” she says simply; then waits.

Marco gives himself a lot of credit for keeping a good poker face, and he just shrugs, attempting to look embarrassed. “You got me,” he says lamely, knowing he’s unconvincingly, “um, that’s what I want.”

Hitch’s silvery laughter is the only response, until finally, she replies, “You? At a brothel, Marco? I’m pretty sure it’d be more likely to see a Titan in the Interior.”

And with that, she snorts, and turns back around to retake her watch.

Marco makes his way back down to the barracks, not knowing what to think. It’s not that it’s a terrible thing to do. Everyone gets by how they need to, and the only thing Marco judges is when people are corrupt and hurt others.

He also takes great pains to ignore the fact that the thought of Jean fucking someone else—all sweaty and low-voiced and desperate—simultaneously makes Marco’s cock twitch and his heart sink. It’s a stupid, schoolboy crush he’s had for a long time, but it’s never completely gone away.

It started the last year of their training unexpectedly. 

It was all due to two stupid moments. The first was when Jean had looked over at Marco one rainy afternoon, both of them cold and damp in the woods with their ODM gear on, and smiled. Jean didn’t smile very often, but when he did, Marco felt like he had looked into the sun; and on that particular day, something changed.

The second was the afternoon before graduation—that night, in fact—when Jean had confided that his crush on Mikasa had only grown over the years, and he wanted to tell her before she joined the Scouting Legion with Eren.

Marco had clenched his first so hard that evening during the salute, that he had angry red crescent-shaped marks in his palm for days afterward.

He got over it mostly—even had a few flings once they finally reached the Interior, during which time Marco discovered that his crush on Jean wasn’t just a one-time thing in terms of sexuality. He preferred men, but that was okay. No one thought much of it, and if anyone did, there was far too much debauchery and other activities occurring in the Interior to worry about something so minor as a rookie Military Police recruit who preferred to share his bed with men exclusively.

Jean had probably noticed, but he’d never said anything.

But one thing that had always puzzled Marco about Jean was that, as good looking as he became, he never seemed to be involved with anyone.

At first, Marco chalked it up to the fact that Mikasa had, in fact, joined the Scouting Legion, and it was unlikely they’d see her any time soon. He’d started to think that Jean was heartbroken, but then it became apparent that Jean had stopped thinking about Mikasa as much. They had, after all, only been sixteen at the time of graduation.

Now, Marco is truly baffled, because not only is Jean lying about what he’s up to, but he’s going to a prostitute. This strikes Marco as completely bizarre, since Jean doesn’t lack options, or even free time.

Nevertheless, Marco finally resolves that it’s none of his business. If doing this makes Jean happy and he doesn’t want to share, that’s fine—it’s not anyone’s place to bother him about it.

The thought puts a twinge in Marco’s chest, though, because Jean used to tell him almost everything.

Jean’s not the only one who’s changed, though.

Even Connie and Sasha have been caught once or twice involved in a poker game—although, to be fair, it was a bit more innocent that pervasive corruption, considering Connie lost his entire month’s paycheck and Sasha was only there because there was an entire roasted pig.

Marco has also developed his vices, and one of them is being stubborn. As a child, and even during training, it’d evolved into an attribute of steadfastness... but since he’s been immersed in the world of the Military Police, stubbornness is the one flaw that he’ll allow himself to indulge. He’s also surprised to find that it’s served him well in some situations, because being a little bit of an asshole can get you a long way sometimes.

This is also the precise reason he decides to wait for Jean to return from his late night tryst. Marco has no plan to confront or even criticize Jean; but he refuses to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest anymore. He’s tired of Jean keeping him at arm’s length.

So, he positions himself right in the front hallway of the barracks with his book. There’s a poker game going on in a drawing room just beyond the main door, and when occasional passersby ask in bewilderment why he’s sitting there, Marco tells them that the light in his room is too dim.

It’s fascinating in some way, just sitting and watching what happens at this hour. It’s probably at least eleven p.m. by now, and all the officers that are on watch are well out the door and stationed at their posts. Now the true reality of the Military Police can be seen—the occasional prostitute ducking in the front door and making his or her way toward the senior officers’ quarters in the back; a merchant pulling up to deliver a few kegs of beer that goes directly into the drawing room where the poker game is still happening; and even the sounds of gossip wafting down from the second floor.

Strangely, in some way, the barracks remind Marco of his own house—busy, lots of people going in and out, full of life’s daily comings and goings—only with sex, corruption, and deceit. So, yes, a bit different.

Suddenly, he misses Jean terribly. 

And, just then, as if perfectly in sync with his thoughts, Jean materializes as he walks through the door. 

He should look relaxed, sated, ready to either have a drink or fall asleep; instead, he’s got his jaw clenched and he looks exhausted.

“Jean?” Marco says, standing up from where he’s been sitting on the stairs with his book.

Jean turns sharply to stare at Marco with wide eyes, and then takes two steps backward.

“Hi,” he says awkwardly after a moment of silence, “um, why are you still up?”

“Reading.”

“Oh,” Jean immediately looks at the floor and fidgets with his jacket. “Um, okay, goodnight.”

And with that, he turns and starts to walk away. 

“Hitch told me I should go sometime,” Marco says, the words escaping his mouth before he can even start to convince himself that it’s a bad idea to say them. “What do you think?”

Jean whirls around with a shocked expression, but then a look of anger flashes over his face. “Were you spying on me?”

The words sting; but after a moment of consideration, Marco has to admit that maybe he was. Maybe he’s not as honorable as he first thought.

“No,” he replies, but it only comes off as convincing because it’s half true. Marco is a terrible liar. “Hitch asked me if I was looking for you because I saw her on patrol, and when I said I didn’t know where you were, she just... told me.” Marco rubs the back of his head, and he can feel his face starting to burn. “I didn’t _ask_.”

Just then, one of the senior officers sticks his head out into the hallway to stare at them, and Marco realizes their conversation is starting to attract attention.

“What’s going on out here?” he asks, squinting his eyes and looking back and forth between Marco and Jean.

Marco wracks his brain to think of a good excuse, when suddenly, the answer is obvious.

“I’m getting a brothel recommendation,” he retorts, staring straight at the suspicious man.

Jean chokes a little, but then, just as Marco suspects, the officer laughs raucously and points at Marco. “Good lad.”

He shuts the heavy oak door with a thud. Jean turns to look at Marco, and when Marco meets his eyes, they just stare at each other in shock.

After a moment, they both burst out laughing at the same time, trying to keep their voices down as Marco strides quickly down the hallway toward his room with Jean in tow.

Jean’s boots thud against the carpeted hallway, and Marco’s heart clenches when he hears Jean still laughing. 

It’s been a long time since he laughed like that.

Finally, Marco pulls Jean into his own bedroom and shuts the door behind them, moving away to give Jean space.

The laughter dies almost immediately, and Jean turns away and takes a defensive posture. “I should, uh...” he mumbles, “go back to my room. I’ve got watch at six a.m.”

Marco studies Jean for a moment in the low light—his shoulders are a little broader, his hair a little messier, and he’s a few inches taller than he was a few years ago. But overall, he’s still Jean. His posture is almost identical to the first day Marco met him, but his personality has dulled. In fact, Marco hasn’t seen laugh or even scowl in at least a few months.

And then, Marco suddenly has the urge to do something very dishonorable.

“Was it good?” he asks. “Did you get off?”

Jean whirls around in shock, and Marco feeds off the emotion he gets, the reaction that makes Jean look so alive. Not just drinking and smoking and feeding off the spoils of corruption, but like the real Jean—passionate, volatile, determined.

“ _What?_ ” Jean demands, although he’s practically gawking.

Even to Marco, the words seem like speaking a foreign language, and he’s the one who said them.

He goes to casually sit down on the bed, trying not to look at Jean because he knows his face will give away how awkward he feels, but he can’t stop. 

The mattress squeaks as he settles on the edge, and he casually leans over to slide his book into the bedside drawer. His room is small and humble, and unlike most of the officers’ quarters, he doesn’t have any decadent decor. There’s no liquor on the dresser, no paintings, nothing except a few crisp uniforms hanging in the closet, and the only luxury he’s indulged himself with is shoe polish.

In fact, the only adornment in the room is a charcoal drawing that Jean did of the barracks courtyard during their first few days there. It’s still tacked to the wall.

Jean never draws anymore, either.

“Well, was it?” Marco asks, picking up his former line of questioning. “I don’t know, maybe I _should_ try it.”

“It’s not for you,” Jean retorts, his voice a little shrill. 

“Maybe I’m _lonely_ ,” Marco blurts out angrily, and then blinks. He didn’t mean to say that. “If you don’t want to help me out, I’ll ask Hitch. Never mind.”

“Marco, you’re not going to a goddamn brothel,” Jean barks. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, you do. What’s the difference?” Marco retorts in a challenge.

“Because I actually _am_ lonely,” Jean shouts. But instead of recoiling and backtracking on his uncomfortably candid statement, he just keeps going. “What is it to you, anyway?”

Marco doesn’t actually know what it is to him, and heaves a frustrated sigh, leaning forward to balance his elbows on his knees and scowl at the floor.

“I don’t know,” he replies honestly. “I just... why?”

“I just told you _why_ ,” Jean sneers.

“Do you hate me?” Marco asks softly, and Jean takes a sharp breath in.

“What?” Jean asks, his voice suddenly very quiet.

Marco tries to pretend his eyes aren’t burning. “Why don’t you talk to me anymore?”

“I...” Jean suddenly seems to be at a loss for words, but then his voice is ragged and injured when he replies brokenly, “I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

That gets Marco’s attention, and he raises his head in surprise; then a cold, sick feeling creeps over him when he realizes what Jean means.

Jean has his back to Marco, his shoulders hunched defensively, staring at the wall.

“I... I’m sorry,” Marco stammers. “I haven’t thought about that in a long time. I never meant to make you feel... weird.”

Jean turns his head slightly to look at Marco.

“I know you’re disappointed,” he whispers, looking down again, but he doesn’t turn completely away this time. “I see when you look at me, what you really think.”

“I meant...” Marco whispers, and then isn’t sure what to say. “Jean, I’m not disappointed. I just... I miss the way things used to be.”

Jean turns fully around now to stare at Marco, searching his face immediately for deceit; but when Marco just tilts his head to the side and offers Jean a soft look, Jean sighs heavily, as if releasing a burden.

To Marco’s surprise, he comes over to sit down on the edge of the bed a few feet away and run his hand through his hair wearily.

“You really want to know why I go to a brothel?” Jean asks quietly.

Marco really does, independent of all his own internal conflicts. “Well, yes, if you don’t mind telling me.”

“Because I don’t have to think,” Jean says softly, “about anything. All I have to do is fuck.”

“Does that make you feel better?” Marco asks quietly.

“No,” Jean whispers, and then looks up unexpectedly at Marco. “You know what I miss?” he asks, his voice rough.

“What?” Marco replies with wide eyes, taken aback at this turn of events.

“I miss ODM gear training,” Jean laughs self-deprecatingly, and if Marco’s not mistaken, he’s a little choked up. “I miss swinging through those stupid trees.”

Marco musters a smile and pats Jean’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he says softly, “me too, sometimes.”

_And I miss you most of all._

“I mean...” Marco feels like he’s going to be sick as he laces his own fingers together, “um... you know, if you just want company, you don’t have to go to a brothel.”

He wants to swallow his own tongue and die.

What’s even worse is that Jean doesn’t catch on immediately.

“I might as well not even go anywhere,” Jean sighs. “None of it has really felt that amazing. I always thought sex would be so great... but it’s kind of boring.”

Marco laughs hoarsely, and just shrugs. “You ever tried doing it with a guy?”

And to his absolute shock, Jean nods. “Sure. I did it once. It was okay.” He sighs a little. “Honestly,” he says quietly, “I went tonight, and I didn’t even go in. I paid for the appointment and everything. How pathetic is that?”

“It’s not that pathetic,” Marco says softly, torn in so many different emotional directions he no longer knows which way is up.

Jean snorts self derisively and rolls his eyes, shrugging.

“Well,” Marco says gently, trying very hard to keep his voice level, “maybe it’d feel different if you actually cared about the person.”

Jean outright laughs. “Yeah, maybe when you’re, like, fifteen that makes sense.”

“It made sense to me,” Marco says simply, “and it still does.”

Jean’s voice immediately cuts off, and he turns to stare at Marco. He looks confused, but he’s still not hiding his emotions, and Marco reaches for his hand.

It hurts when Jean jerks back—jerks his entire body back, in fact—and stands up, stumbling back a few feet.

“Wow,” Marco says flatly, “that was kind of over the top.”

He intends for it to be a joke; but it’s really not, because it’s true. And it makes him feel hollow.

“Are you saying you want to...” he gasps, pointing at Marco with a trembling finger, “with me?” Then he points to himself, and his eyebrows are raised.

He looks absolutely terrified.

Marco sighs and gets to his feet, moving as far away as possible to stand and look at the drawing over the bureau.

“Remember when you drew this?”

“Yeah,” Jean croaks.

“Do you still draw?”

There’s a tense silence, until finally, Jean whispers, “No.”

Marco turns back around to look at him, and Jean is clenching both fists. He’s in a lot of pain, and Marco realizes quite suddenly that he’s not the only one who’s had their growing distance on his mind.

He walks over to Jean and takes both of Jean’s hands gently in his own, pulling Jean’s arms around him into a hug. 

When Jean’s hands open and press against Marco’s back, Marco pulls back slightly to meet his eyes. “I liked you back then,” he says simply, his eyebrows raising. “It never went away, and... I can keep you ‘company’ if you want.”

It’s like a laundry list of confessions and an offer, but it makes Marco sick how dispassionate it sounds.

To his surprise, though, Jean doesn’t have a clever response. Instead, he just clings to Marco, pressing his face against a shoulder and holding on tight.

“Or,” Marco adds, regretting the words even as they come out of his mouth, “you can see what it feels like to fuck someone who cares about you.” 

“I’m sorry I’m disappointing,” Jean shudders.

Marco kisses his hair and shakes his head. “You’re not disappointing.”

Jean pulls back a little to stare at Marco, and Marco smiles at him a little. “I really missed you,” he says softly.

“I missed you, too,” Jean murmurs.

“Come here,” Marco says softly, pulling Jean toward the bed. “Are you sure you actually want this?”

“I...” Jean murmurs. “I thought about it sometimes.”

Marco’s eyes widen; he wasn’t expecting that. 

They just look at each other for a minute, and then Jean’s eyes slip shut as Marco leans forward to press a hesitant kiss against his cheek, before drawing back.

“You really thought about it?” he whispers, some dark, suspicious part of him that’d developed recently doubting Jean’s words.

“Yeah,” Jean murmurs. Then he adds awkwardly, “Did you know you have ten freckles on your left cheek?”

Marco blinks at him in surprise, and Jean blushes slightly. “Oh,” he says softly.

“I...”

“You don’t have to explain,” Marco says, shaking his head.

“Okay,” Jean whispers. 

Marco doesn’t hesitate as he slides the jacket off Jean’s shoulders, unfastens his ODM harness (why they wear it all the time is still a mystery to Marco) and gear, and then gets to work on his shirt.

As soon as he sees skin, Marco presses his lips there; it starts with Jean’s collar bone, and then the hollow of his throat.

Jean’s back arches and he whimpers, and Marco pushes him to lie down on the bed. It bounces a little as Marco crawls up next to Jean, and they both laugh quietly.

Marco sidles up next to Jean and presses his mouth against Jean’s shoulder, kissing him there.

“What do you want me to do?” Marco asks.

“Um,” Jean says, biting his lip. He looks sheepish, and Marco reaches out to grasp his hand. “Can you kiss me?”

Marco smiles a little and nods; he leans forward to kiss Jean, and to his surprise, Jean makes a desperate, emotional sound and grabs Marco bodily.

Marco breaks the kiss momentarily as Jean pulls him on top, and then Marco steadies himself and pushes his lips against Jean’s, kissing him fiercely.

He moans as he feels Jean’s legs wrap around him—he’s needy and clawing at Marco’s back, as if starving for affection.

Marco pulls back a little and murmurs gently against Jean’s mouth, “Slow down and just relax. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You promise?” he whispers.

Marco knows Jean means it in more ways than one, and he nods, pressing their foreheads together.

“Yeah, I promise.”

Jean groans and arches his back, and half of Marco’s fantasies come true as Jean starts to roll his hips upward against Marco, moaning.

Marco can’t help but wonder, as he unbuttons Jean’s shirt the rest of the way and unfastens his pants, what it would’ve been like to do this years before.

He thinks about what Jean might’ve tasted like—as he licks at Jean’s nipples, a move that causes Jean to keen and tighten his fingers in Marco’s hair—when they were still cadets.

And then Marco realizes it doesn’t matter a bit, because this is Jean—as he was, as he is, as he will always be.

“Marco,” Jean moans, his voice ragged, reaching out his hand. Marco catches it to kiss Jean’s palm.

He’s not wearing clothes now, laid out across Marco’s bed naked and his cock standing out in front of him, and it’s the most vulnerable Marco’s ever seen him.

And then he feels the strength of Jean’s arm pull him forward and down so that they’re lying against each other, and Jean growls in that voice that Marco doesn’t hear as much anymore, “Take off your clothes?”

He doesn’t waste time, because this is more urgent than slow and sweet, and Marco gets undressed quickly. Pants are thrown uncharacteristically on the floor, his shirt lands somewhere at the end of the bed, and everything else comes off until he’s naked on top of Jean.

Jean takes a deep breath in, and his hands are shaky as he splays them across Marco’s shoulder blades; Marco leans over to turn the lamp down, and then moves to kiss Jean on the mouth again.

“What feels good?” he murmurs, intoxicated with the smell and feeling of Jean’s skin.

“Um...” Jean stammers, and Marco strokes his shoulder affectionately with his thumb.

“Just tell me,” Marco says, laughing a little and kissing Jean’s temple, “it’s hard to surprise me at this point.”

“Well, with guys...” Jean clears his throat awkwardly, and Marco makes a noise of acknowledgement.

He slips his hand down between Jean’s legs—slowly at first, giving Jean time to protest—until he gets his hand down and then reaches back behind Jean’s cock. “Right here?”

“Yeah,” Jean breathes, his voice immediately going hoarse. 

“You like that?” Marco whispers as he starts to gently stroke Jean’s entrance with careful fingertips.

Jean’s entire body bends and his legs part as he cries out raggedly, nodding his head.

Marco sucks at Jean’s collarbone, dragging his fingers across Jean’s entrance very lightly, and then he pulls back.

He leans over to the bedside drawer, pulling it out with a soft slide of the wood over its hinges, and retrieves a vial of oil.

“Oh,” Jean says, his voice hesitant, “um... I guess you’re...”

“Experienced?” Marco finishes for him as he uncaps the bottle. “Well, I’m not really interested in women.” He shrugs a little.

Jean shrugs in return, but he eyes Marco’s fingers curiously as Marco coats them in oil. “Um,” he asks uncertainly, “do you want me to get on my hands and knees?”

“No,” Marco replies softly, pushing Jean down on the bed again. “That can work, but I’d rather see your face, okay?”

Jean colors a little, and looks down. “I don’t really do it that way a lot.”

“Not with women or men?” Marco asks gently. He hides it, but his throat is tightening, realizing just how alone Jean has really felt.

“No,” Jean says, shaking his head.

“Is that okay if I look at you?” Marco asks, kissing at the hinge of Jean’s jaw.

“Yeah,” he replies immediately, “with you.”

“Kiss me,” Marco says simply, and presses his lips against Jean’s as he reaches down.

Jean moans into his mouth as Marco rubs his fingers at Jean’s entrance more ambitiously now that everything is slicked up, and he presses just a fingertip in.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see one of Jean’s hands fist tightly in the brown military-issue comforter, and the other one lands on Marco’s upper arm and squeezes.

“Yeah,” he pants, tipping his head back and arching his back. “Marco...”

Marco pushes his finger in a little more, and then when Jean rolls his hips, he curls it up, searching for Jean’s prostate.

Jean starts to fuck Marco’s finger, but then it’s obvious he’s found that spot when Jean lets out a surprised cry and his eyes fly open.

Marco takes the opportunity to press their foreheads together as he moves his hand, pushing against that spot over and over, and there are tears in Jean’s eyes.

He shudders, and Marco makes an encouraging noise as Jean reaches down to stroke himself at the same time, pumping his hips as he starts to fuck his own hand.

When he comes, and practically sobs out Marco’s name, Marco swears he will never forget this moment; no matter what happens, this is a memory he will always keep.

He carefully pulls his finger out of Jean and collapses next to him on the bed, and Jean gets close immediately, pressing up against Marco so that they’re chest to chest.

They just breathe each other for a moment, until Marco reaches down between them to get himself off. Jean just makes a noise of encouragement, even they’re both exhausted, as Marco strokes himself. He speeds up after a moment, and it doesn’t take much to reach the orgasm when he closes his eyes and inhales Jean’s familiar scent, hears the sound of Jean’s voice as he moans, feels the pressure of his hand at the small of Marco’s back.

“Oh, _god_ ,” Marco shudders as he comes between them.

Then, everything goes still, and Jean doesn’t move. He just stays where he is, until he tightens his grip ever so slightly where his hand is pressed against Marco’s waist.

They finally draw away from each other, cleaning up rudimentarily, and Marco rolls over to snuff out the light.

Jean stays, and they snuggle up together.

“You know,” Marco whispers, his legs tangled with Jean’s under the blankets, lying behind him, “I think tomorrow they’re having some kind of ODM training practice in Trost. You want to...”

“Sneak in?” Jean whispers.

Marco kisses his hair and hums. “Yeah.”

Jean sighs, and all the tension finally seems to leave his body. “Okay.”

He clasps Marco’s hand, and they fall asleep in the dark—together.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments are very much appreciated! <3


End file.
